


Retail Christmas Hell

by susiephalange



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Shopping, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Swearing, gender neutral!reader, supermarket au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Reader works at the local grocery store. Her manager, Thor Odinson, hires a handful of security guards to make sure his workers are safe in the silly season chaos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I work at a supermarket and every shift has me dying by the end of it. So, I thought, _pain is inspiration_! and I wrote this fic. It's taken me ages to write, since I'm full of Christmas shifts at work, and studying at uni and general life, so please bear with me.

Christmastime was a month of furious soccer mothers, kids stealing candies, vengeful elderly people who were known usually to be sweet and comely, and generally, lines that went out the door as far as the eye could see. To be honest, it never phased you, seeing as the more people who came through your register, kept you busy and on your feet, the faster time went and the closer it was until knock off.

Odinson's Food Market was known for its fresh produce and friendly smiles, but when you had to put up with screaming babies and the bossing around of customers who wanted bags packed a certain way, the last thing you were thinking of, to be frank, was smiling at the assholes who left their food shopping to the last minute and were in a rush like there was no tomorrow.

You weren't sure how the store was handling it; Tony who stacked the shelves said they were too busy to breathe as the people would practically wipe the canned food and things into their carts as soon as he stacked it. Your manager, Thor was always on his feet trying to sort out altercations and mixups with prices and hormonal adults arguing over the last watermelon on sale. Even Clint, who ran the little deli in the side of the store said he was in over his head with orders for hams and turkeys and such.

In short, Christmastime was retail hell. 

But, it was money, and you needed just that to get out of the hell at home to rent an apartment as far away as you could from your terrible family as you could, and maybe, just maybe go to higher education so those who came after you in your bloodline weren't doomed to repeat history. This dream was that which kept your fake smile on, hands without cramps, and tolerance to the shoddy customers higher than that of a saint. 

So far, the end of November and the better half of December had been a madhouse, with everyone coming in and grabbing their long life items, stocking up on decorations and fairy lights for their trees, on their holiday foods. Now, nearing the day itself, it seemed to be busier twofold than you'd ever seen it in your time here at Odinson's Food Market. Lines were larger. Ambience louder. The faraway echo of a howling child nearing in the pram, pushed by the nuclear family about to go nuclear if they did't buy the right sort of Parmesan. 

It was a Tuesday when Thor Odinson decided, that he would use his father's funds to do something more than advertise for the little store with. It was a Tuesday when he hired five security guards from the privately owned company called ASGARSHIELD. As someone who only went to school because your parents were sick of having kids around their feet at home, you weren't really from a background where you'd seen many security guards. Maybe the ones in the bank who scowled over their shades indoors to make sure you didn't make a heist while they were on guard, or even the policemen, sure, but never these people.

Nat, Phil, Heimdall, Sam and Maria started that day, standing at the entrance to the store to ward off evil with their professional glares, to break up quarrels before they began. Nat and Maria never talked, always staying in their spot, watching out with near superhuman vision. Phil was all business until he made friends with one of the other cashiers, Steve, yammering on about their mutual love for an old time-y comic character when (if) it got slow enough to talk. Sam stuck around inside, stalking the known shoplifters like a falcon, picking them up on stuffing lollies down their pants in the act. And Heimdall, the quiet, intrusive Heimdall, would watch the entrance at the end of your register. 

It took another Tuesday and a half for Heimdall to break his calm, collected shell; you noticed this well with your cashier eyes. When your friends had asked what 'cashier eyes' were, they'd laughed; that you had super-vision or something while on duty, noticing things about people or situations as to avoid major fallout and such. But with this very real, very handy super power of yours, you saw Heimdall watching you, as he always did for the last month, except, he was smiling. Just a little; not enough to show his teeth, but enough to know he had the muscles in his body to do so. 

"You alright, sir?" you ask him, leaning over the register booth to see him better. With five minutes without a customer, you were free to relieve yourself of the stresses of standing up for nine hours a day and those customers that backchat. "Look a little off in your head there."

Heimdall nodded. "Just been watching you, that's all." He frowns, gesturing to the family who had gone on their way. "How can you stand it, talking to people all day?"

You crack a smile at that, "Well, how can you stand it, standing there, watching people all day?" you ask back, staring into his dark eyes. "I've been doing this job for years now, it just sort of grows on you, and, well, after the first dozen angry customers, you try to make sure that the next person whose mood is down can be perked up a little bit." You glance to your side, and noticing a customer pushing their trolley into your bay, you give him a nod, and start the never-ending job once again. 

It was the Tuesday before Christmas, which, coincidentally, was the day before. It was the day from hell, and apart from your hair looking like literal crap, so was your mood, even though it was the same fake smile for every person who wanted things bagged a certain way. Maybe it was because the air conditioner slash heat was working overtime too and broke, or the fact that even Steve, the angel from above was having trouble with these literal demons buying four hundred dollars of empty carbs in their carts, but before you knew it, the icing on the cake was being laid out. 

He had bars in his brows and lips, and looked like he came from good breeding for every part of his DNA except for the manners that were as black as his soul and clothing. There was nothing nice about this guy; perhaps the only nice thing would be that he couldn't stay there bossing you around, calling you names. 

"I need those bottles double bagged, I've got a way to walk, you bitch," he hissed, barely glancing up from his Blackberry. Who even had a Blackberry, this was the modern ages, not 2006. "Fuck - not like that -," he tossed his phone into a pocket in his heavy greatcoat, and leaned over like the register bay was nothing between the pair of you. For a moment, your heart stopped, thinking he was going to throttle you, because well, he looked like he was high on something, and not just his ego. At once, he began to rip the bags from the rack, throwing them haphazardly into others. 

You glanced to Heimdall, but it seemed like he got the message before you sent it. At once, the man was upon the guy, pushing him back into his side of the register, where all the other customers were supposed to stand, and stay.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Heimdall intoned, voice monotonous like he was a secret service agent. 

At once, the punk guy stretched to full height, and cocked his head like he was ready to fight anyone and anything that stood in his way. "I'm just leaving. I need my stuff for Christmas, and I'll be off." He gritted. 

You stood there, stock still, heart racing like a little mouse caught in the crossfire of a cat and dog. Heimdall noticed you, or maybe he just knew everything that happened inside the places he was protecting, and crossed his arms. "I will not hesitate to remind you, sir, this establishment does not serve those who treat those working are slaves." His voice was not small, but booming, loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of the store. "You can take your business elsewhere."

The guy make a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a hiss, and marched off, mumbling something about 'the wrath of the Von Doom family' and something very rude, and unable to be mentioned again in polite conversation. 

The rest of the line of people who had witnessed the outburst had been humbled by the rudeness the guy displayed, and the dominance that the tall security guard had shown. Not another person was ill-spoken to you that night, but you guessed it had something to do with the fact that Heimdall had stationed himself beside the register like he was a secret service man protecting a president's child or something.

By the time the shift ended - your coworkers loved to let you go first, they knew you had a lot on your plate - you couldn't help but not leave until you had some answers. Heimdall was just collecting his backpack, shades atop his forehead even though it was ten o'clock at night. "I - I want to say thanks for what you did, early," you managed to get out, biting your lip. "He's always been a bit of a prick - I mean, not a nice guy to me every other time he comes through."

"You're very welcome, _______." Heimdall nodded, pulling the other strap of his backpack on. "I could tell. He's not a nice guy."

You bob your head, but it's then you realise. With Christmas being tomorrow, and your few days off until New Years Eve, you won't be seeing him again, perhaps ever. He's been so nice to you, always looking out, keeping an eye on you. A spark of courage is mustered, and you burst out, "Um, I'm not sure if you like pizza, and seeing most pizza stores are closed over the holidays, but I'd like to go out there, er, with you, to say thanks. Properly." You blurt. 

It couldn't have been any more botched, the poor guy could see through that in an instant -

"I love pizza," he smiles, and grabbing a notepad from his pocket, pens down digits in ink. "Here's my number. I look forward to seeing you again, _______."

You were sure that Tony and Thor were cheering over by the front desk. Even more sure that Clint from the deli had overheard, as there was a huge whistle, and sure enough, there he was, with two thumbs up high above his head.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
